


Deeds are better than words

by DwarfOfManyJourneys



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Comfort, Conversations, Fluff, M/M, Nightmares, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 19:19:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4799279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DwarfOfManyJourneys/pseuds/DwarfOfManyJourneys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>A man may leave the Locker, but the Locker will never leave the man.</em><br/>Graves and TF have a conversation long overdue and the Outlaw realizes, what his friend is <strong>not</strong> saying.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Deeds are better than words

**Author's Note:**

> After writing some angsty stuff, I needed comfort. So I decided to give those two a long needed talk.

_A man may leave the Locker, but the Locker will never leave the man._

Graves knew better, than to expect a full night of sleep, years of nightmares had taught him that lesson.  
Still he found himself in one of those memories, twisting and turning his very being till all he knew was pain. _SO much pain..._ "-colm. Malcolm! Come back to me."  
All this torture, the taunts... "Follow my voice, partner. Wake up!" 

He had kept those secrets locked inside himself, deeply buried under all his hate, so that they could not find it.  
_They must not find it._

"Come on, hotshot. You're tougher than that." How cruel, to hear that voice again. To hear concern again.  
_He was a mere speck of pain, he couldn't even recognise himself..._

**BAM.**

The sudden real pain on his face made him blink awake, a roar escaping him as he tackled his attacker, throwing him on the mattress and holding him down, his breath still erratic and eyes wild. His partner and fellow conman Twisted Fate seemed unfazed by his outburst, completely still and not even a golden card in his hand (if Graves were a bit more coherent, he would have known, that TF kept one in his sleeve, but right now, he saw nothing). Instead, he mustered him without a word, giving him time to come to his senses without triggering him.

"Sorry 'bout that."  
The gunman mumbled and moved his arm from the other man's shoulder, though he kept him trapped under his body, not yet trusting his muscles to work the way he wanted them to.  
TF made no comment on that either, calm eyes scanning his own for any lingering shadows, his face impassive as ever minus the grin.  
(For that, Graves was thankful. He may have snapped, if TF had shown that smug grin of his)

It took another moment or two for Graves to realize their compromising position and hastily stood up, clearing his throat as he helped his partner up.  
"I'm not... ark, forget it, I need a smoke, go back to sleep." 

Without waiting for an answer, he made a retreat out to the balcony, a luxury he normally did not need, but he was thankful for it nonetheless.  
Back in the room, he could hear Fate shuffling his cards, a tell that his old friend was still mulling over the happenings. 

Both of them had been tired to the bone, finally feeling safe enough to rent a hotel room and make a break. And in this state of exhaustion, he blew it and ruined a good night's rest for both of them.  
It took a while for his cigar to calm him down, but eventually he went back inside and faced the blank face of his partner, which most would have translated to indifference but his schooled eye could read as patience. That stupid riverman did not want to pressure him, huh? Well, tough luck, he was no fucking delicate daisy and needed no dilly-dallying of any sort. 

"Tis the Locker. But you already know that, right?" he grunted out as he went back to the bed, not minding as his shoes left smudges of dirt on the covers. 

Twisted Fate looked much like his younger self, without his hat and the leather coat, only clad in a crimson tunic and dark pants, his hair flowing freely onto his back. If Graves did not know any better, he would be the perfect image of a young or middle aged aristocrat. But Graves had seen him bloodied and to the knees in mud, a feral grin on his face as he shot his prey, no, Graves knew better than to think that man soft and vulnerable. Right now, he was met with said man's stare, as he was mustered himself, since Fate would never answer him without calculating the odds. Ever.

"Figured as much, yeah." He spoke at last and resumed his stacking of cards, sorting out some nicked ones and put them to the side, before fishing the flawed ones from his bed to mend them. (Why he even bothered was beyond Graves, but if it calmed him, he wasn't one to judge) 

"Physical torture is easy. A bit of pain, a lot of pain... it takes a lot, but..." he turned awkwardly, not really ready for Tobias' understanding gaze, instead focusing on the wall and the ugly pattern it was covered with. (And he could not yet think about the meaning of turning his back to TF again.) 

"The Locker... messes with your head. It takes your dreams, your secrets and twists them into nightmares. No matter how deep you bury them, the Locker finds them and everything you ever cherished turns to ash before you. I saw them, Tobias. I saw The Brick, Kolt... all of them, and I saw them getting hung like the pirate rats we were. I saw your face as you..." he locked his jaw, not willing to say another word, dreading the laughter of the trickster behind him. 

A soft sigh and the sound of a person moving on sheets were the only indicators of TF's movement, before the padding of feet on the floor came closer to his bed. He did not dare to turn over as the weight of a second person settled to his side, Tobias' long legs barely brushing against his own and a shoulder emitted warmth next to him. 

"When we heard, where they took you, I did not need to ask them, you know? The moment I told them, we were already setting sail." 

So that was it, the hour of truth, he would hear how his... _their friends died._  
He still kept his back to the man, not wanting to cause him to stop, so close to the truth. 

An idle hand brushed against his arm and settled on his hip, innocent and merely a reminder of his partner's presence. 

"The vicinity is closely guarded, so we decided to keep the ship out of sight, as infiltrating seemed to be the better way inside. Wallach and Coby would stay behind with a few men to get us out Zaun as fast as possible the moment we freed you, the rest followed me. We made it past security and into the first ward, before the personnel knew what happened. We took a few hostages and let us be led down to the security wards..." Graves could feel his tremble thanks to the proximity, but kept silent, only moving his white knuckled fist to his waist, forcing it open and clasping his friend's hand with his own, who grabbed back with equal force.

"It was a trap, if I ever saw one. They had spotted our ship and destroyed it, leaving our men to die out there, retrieving a few mangled corpses to throw at our feet as we stood there and... the Brick lost it. He charged right into the next best wall, taking down a couple of mercenaries, only to be felled by heavy gunfire. It was chaos after that." 

His voice lost some of its strength, before he continued. 

"Remember Jason, the cabin boy? That stupid little runt managed to survive till the end, as the two of us took cover behind a stretcher.  
"Go, captain, sir." He said. "Go, captain, sir. If anyone can survive this, it's the captain, sir!"  
_And he charged right in._ Just like them all." 

His voice was merely a whisper now, causing Graves goosebumps all over, images of his crewmates burning behind his eyelids. 

"He brought me enough time to flee to the upper level, where I hid myself until I found a ship to Noxus."  
The rest was left unsaid. 

No crew would risk their lives for a man they never met. **No one** would enter the Locker willingly.  
He had heard enough. 

All this emotional stuff made him uneasy and besides getting angry, he had no idea how to cope. They sat in silence for a while, till Graves realised, that Fate was humming behind him. An old riversong, he had no doubt, soothing and smoothing the worry on his face, as he slowly went back to sleep. The song never stopped.

 

When he woke up, it was well past breakfast and he was alone in the room, the window opened to let a gentle breeze inside.  
With a groan, he stood up, cracking joints and rolling stiff limbs, hands reaching for Destiny only to find her gone, two colts in her stead laying on the bedside table.  
He donned his poncho and made his way out the room, after checking again and finding none of TF's belongings remaining. 

It was as if last night was but a dream itself, no hint left that it ever happened. 

From the exit, he spotted his partner fairly quick, a lone figure at the railing of a bridge, a small trail of smoke trailing to the sky and the hat tugged deeply over his face.  
Graves grimaced and made his way over to him, checking his pockets for a cigar and lighting it, just as he arrived beside the magician, offering the other man one of the oranges, that 'found' their way into his pockets.  
Fate accepted with a nod and started to peel it, throwing the skin into the mumbling river below them. 

"You never told me, why you left your people." 

He mused over his cigar, not really expecting an answer as his eyes roamed over the water's surface. "You never asked." He would have missed the fleeting whisper, if he had not stood close by, the words barely audible over the sound of running water. He exhaled slowly, the smoke wavering around before it slowly dispersed in the wind. Next to him, Twisted Fate snipped his finished cigarette into the river, watching the speck of white tumbling around, his lips pressed together as if contemplating. 

Graves decided that they were done being soft and he could not stomach another heartfelt story right now, so he shrugged, stomping out his cigar butt on the railing and throwing it into the water to join Fate's. "Nor will I ask today. We got work to do." He straightened his posture and offered his companion a grin, which was luckily answered, as they both headed for the port.

There were no words of romance or sweet little promises, but Graves was more than fine with it.  
Breaking into The Locker for a rescue?  
Saving the other's life again and again?  
Those deeds were far more honest and for now, all he needed to know. 

He glanced at Tobias back and felt content. Yeah, one day he would reach out, for he knew TF only waited for him to make up his mind. 

They worked like that: No words needed, always a bit drastic and most of all: Always making it out alive.  
So, no matter what, he believed in a future together.

**Author's Note:**

> I kind of want to write TF's rescue mission, but right now I can't find the words.  
> And I need to continue the AUs :D Still, this one wanted to be written :)


End file.
